Wield the Sword
Wield the sword of Beauty, win back the children.
Sharpen your blade with blossoms and polish it in the star-silvered sea.
Rub your hands in moondust, grip your hilt with the grit of powdered diamonds.
Step forward with a lover’s bravado, lean in like a virgin bride’s kiss.
Raise your blade with the strength of wild horses, run with the speed of a million shooting stars.
Swing with the passion of a mother’s love, strike like the light slicing the darkness.
Shout like the echo of desert canyons and overcome like the sun eclipsing the moon.
Conquer, my son; conquer, my daughter. You have been given you all you need.
In this poem, I wanted to play with the idea that beauty is a weapon, but a weapon of the sort that is not only harmless, but full of life; ready to defeat the death and darkness that overwhelms the world. Read it as it speaks to you. But if it helps, the voice of the poem is that of a King speaking to his grown son and daughter.